Self-Sacrifice
by xXKanpekiXx
Summary: Sometimes we give up our selfish desires so we don't hurt the ones we love. Bruce gets sick and Dick takes it upon himself to help out. Not explicitly slash. Just a cute fluff fic.


General disclaimer: I don't own Batman. That's on DC.

Also written for my friend who has far too much work to do. I've read the most adorable sick fics with Dick being knocked out with a cold and needing Bruce to baby him. I thought it would be funny and painfully adorable to reverse the roles. Please enjoy.

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Self-Sacrifice

Bruce heard a raspiness in his voice while he debriefed Robin on their mission for the night. A roughness beyond his usual vigilante growl. Barely discernible amongst the sounds of a dying city and the wind tugging at their capes, the Dark Knight's disrupted baritone almost escaped Robin's notice.

But not quite.

Batman was a master of image maintenance. What he felt, if anything, never made it past the white lenses of the cowl. However, it seemed even the Dark Knight wasn't fully immune to bodily pressures. To think he would falter in the face of the common cold was laughable, but something was definitely off.

Bruce telecommuted from the manor when Wayne Industries needed him, saving his energy for his nightly patrol. Playboy figurehead could afford to take a few days off.

Gotham's protector could not.

Even so, he took all the precautions possible to minimize the effect of his cold.

Alfred left his immaculate meal trays at the foot of Bruce's bedroom door, instead of bringing the food inside, per usual. And although Bruce didn't usually get to spend much time with his ward, there were stolen moments of picking out classic literature in the endless Wayne library, and then reading them together chapter-by-chapter to wind down after the adrenaline rush of patrol. At night, Bruce would tuck him in, tired beyond pretenses. After Playboy Mogul Wayne, after terror-of-the-night Batman.

Bruce.

Just Bruce.

That's the man who tucked Dick in at night. That's the man who earned Dick's admiration and love.

Recently, Dick saw none of Bruce, and few glimpses of Batman. And even though Dick knew Bruce was trying to ensure his charge didn't catch his illness, the boy still missed the affection that regularly slipped through his stoic demeanor.

The way his big, warm hands ruffled Dick's black hair, the soft, rumbling laugh Dick could almost feel if he sat close enough, and the gentle smile in Bruce's normally icy stare, reserved for him and Alfred only. He hoped Bruce missed him too and wished he didn't have to be kept at arm's length. But Bruce always told him "Sometimes, we have to sacrifice ourselves and put aside what we want so we don't hurt the ones we love." Even if that meant imposing quarantine on the master bedroom of the Wayne Manor.

So, Dick dealt with it, going through his days alone, save for the company of his favorite English gentleman. He counted the hours until patrol, trying to gauge his guardian's recovery whenever their nightly activities allowed him close enough. Bruce seemed to be getting better, symptoms steadily retreating back into stony perfection, until the Joker escaped from Arkham once again. The fight was long and arduous, as most encounters with the Dark Knight's greatest enemy were, but the Dynamic Duo emerged victorious in the end, despite their heavy hitter dealing with his cold.

Their success came with a cost.

In the no man's land between night and morning, Bruce and Dick returned to the manor. Gruffly dismissing his ward, the elder man dragged himself to his bed, closing the thick wooden doors to his room with a definitive "thud."

Obstinate and determined, the boy fought Bruce's orders and his exhaustion to visit the kitchen. His steps pattered down the stairs, a soft sound he allowed, knowing he didn't have to be silent. Dick spent a few minutes rooting through the pantry, trying to find something that would be good for a cold. He should have known better than to look for canned soup; everything that came out of Alfred's kitchen was from scratch. However, the young Robin was persistent, and he continued his search until he heard the soft drawl of the Manor's butler behind him.

"Master Richard, what are you doing out of bed at this hour?" He asked, straightening his nightgown. Dick felt a rush of boyish shame, suddenly feeling silly for intending to make Bruce soup at 5 in the morning.

"I was hungry…Sorry, Alfred." He confessed, hoping his selfish excuse would suffice. He could always try comforting his guardian at a reasonable hour with a better effort. The older man appraised the youngest member of the household, his wrinkled face unreadable, before clearing his throat.

"There is some leftover chicken soup in the refrigerator. Remember to pair it with freshly squeezed orange juice. It's in the door compartment. Good night, Master Richard." He said curtly, nodding fast before retreating back to his bed. Sheepishly, Dick reminded himself never to try hiding anything from the omnipotent butler. He found a large container of soup on the top shelf of the fridge, from which he siphoned a liberal serving into a gleaming china bowl. He put that promptly into the microwave, glad no one was there to see him be reckless with dinnerware.

After he finished his assault on the kitchen, Dick loaded a silver tray with the fruits of his labor. He held it firmly with two hands, taking the stairs at a positively glacial pace. Using every drop of the balance his prior life afforded him, Dick was determined to deliver everything in pristine condition.

He paused a few times, wondering how Alfred could zoom about the mansion, carrying trays one-handed and never spilling an ounce. The boy imagined his faithful butler keeping pace with a speeding Batmobile, offering his charges their lunch on a steady tray through the window. He chalked it up to the same butler powers that allowed Alfred to stay ever-superior to Bruce at chess and continued his trek up the stairs.

Dick reached the threshold of his guardian's bedroom, shifting his load to his better hand so he could open the door. He decided against knocking, sure that Bruce would be in corpse-like slumber. Regardless, he padded across the gargantuan master bedroom silently, letting the tray (still perfectly clean) come to rest on the polished mahogany nightstand.

Dick was fully prepared to wake his sleeping partner, but quickly retracted the thought. It was impossible not to relish the slack-jawed fullness with which Bruce slept. So, the man's young Robin decided to provide sick-bed comfort the way he learned in the circus. The way his parents taught him.

He climbed into Bruce's massive bed, scooting close enough to the hulking frame of his guardian so he could provide the best and most loving care he could: the warmth of another person. The younger orphan was glad he could incorporate something from his first family into his new one.

Bruce reacted to Dick's presence without disrupting his sleep, shifting to accommodate the boy into the space against his chest. Suddenly, the room's air carried a chill and Dick wondered how he didn't freeze outside the embrace of his mentor.

The Boy Wonder settled quickly, falling into a peaceful rest he didn't know he so sorely needed.

Bruce stirred as rays of sunlight tickled his face, causing him to sleepily curse himself for not closing the curtains. In his groggy, half-awake state, he registered movement against his front, presumably the source of the incredible blessed heat that made Bruce's limbs sag and protest full awakening. Starved of contact, the lonesome man huddled deeper into the hold of what turned out to be his young ward.

The elder man opened one bleary blue eye, drinking in the sight of his beloved partner curled beside him like a sated puppy. Bruce was too tired to shoo the boy away for his health, but not tired enough to deter himself from running callous fingers through his ward's matted hair. His gaze flickered up to the nightstand, where a bowl of soup and a liberal serving of orange juice sat in waiting. Bruce cracked a smile, drifting back to sleep, soaking in the sunlight and the warmth it brought.

Bruce enjoyed a remarkably swift recovery, while the exact opposite could be said for his young partner in the days that followed their breach of quarantine. His health deteriorated much to the displeasure of his caretakers.

Although Bruce failed in trying to spare his young friend the brunt of his illness, he couldn't be too upset, especially when it meant he could spend time with Dick as usual.

"So, old chum," Bruce cooed, perching himself on the bed next to his pouting and sniffling ward, "I believe we left off on Chapter 11…"

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Hope you enjoyed


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